Sacrifices
= Sacrifices = Posted by : Winteroak on Mar 9, 2018, 1:53am Dusk - 18th August - The Sprawl - Late Evening From the shadows he watched. He watched the speaker reach into the crowd. Inflame passions and indoctrinate. He watched the faces of the assembled. He made mental notes of them all. Spinners from the textile mills and Sluggers from the ammunition factories. He could not help but see more also. Their hunger and pain. The glazed eyes of those without hope of breaking from a cycle of relentless toil. Those that did not believe the system would ever change. Those that been taught to believe that they were no more than beasts of burden. To put on foot in front of the other and hope that between sunrise and sunset a meal could be had. That they were lucky to have the little they did. Lucky to have quotas of clean water in a world shrouded in darkness. A world that cloistered them inside cyclopian walls of a decadent and unfair city. The oppressive nature of Dusk was enough to break the sturdiest of souls. But still they were programmed to live on. Generation after generation. Feeding the money grubbers. But he also saw the eagerness of a few. To believe in anyone that promised them a better future. A future where they could share the spoils of their back breaking toil. A few here and there that would leave this gathering filled with hope and fervor. Filled with a message that all men and women were created equal and that all deserved the same opportunities. The ones that would sacrifice anything for a cause. The ones that would join the tribe of believers. Someone in the other side of the room caught his attention. There was something odd about him Enoch felt. He was dressed in worn clothes and shoes like the rest, he was dirty with the grim of a days work, but something felt off. Instinctively Enoch kept the man in his field of vision while taking another sip from his flask. The man listened and was quite like many others in the room. But he appeared to be doing exactly what Enoch was doing. Observing, making mental notes on who spoke, what was said and especially taking keen interest in those that were more vocal in agreeing with the main orator. Two young boys moved around the room distributing small pamphlets with the symbol of the Red Crew. The Hammer and the Cog. The small grayish parchments spouted the more basic tenets the cause the ideology of economic equality through the elimination of private property. Advocating a completely classless society where the government controls all means of production and distribution of goods and the absence of private property. The idea that if everyone works, everyone should reap the same benefits and prosper equally. Enoch knew among the workers could not read. But the distribution of this propaganda was a visual tool. The symbol would be associated with the idea and spread among the dark confines of the Steamworks and The Sprawl. He saw the man reading the paper carefully. Taking in the info and carefully folding the parchment and placing it inside his breast pocket. Yes, the clothes appeared worn and his skin was dirty but he had did not have the look of someone who was hungry. Or tired. In fact the man appeared almost out of place the way he sat slightly apart from the rest. They way his back and shoulders were not bent. His eyes alert and questing. The assembly drew to an end and after a few excited words of encouragement and support the crowd started to disperse. Doing his best to look inconspicuous, Enoch left the cellar at exactly the same time as this stranger. They walked of into the darkness in the same general direction. "What a load of rubbish, mate..." he told the man shaking. "Like we could ever change the way the world always been.. " The man looked at him and shrugged. "Ye ne'er knaw. They can be oan tae somethin'." he replied. "Mate, every time wese start blabberin' rebelion the Milita jus' come and bust our melons..." he grinned. " And where would these fouls get our water anyways? Bah. A pox on communal shite talk." he said extending his flask to the man. He shrugged again and took a swing wincing. "Sweit jesus. Strong." they rounded a corner and headed towards the river. The twisting dirty streets here had no illumination. And they used the faint sickly glow of Maelstrom to navigate and the odd light that still burned inside house on the decrepit neighborhood. "Name's Bain." Enoch lied. " I work at the Sextant. Youse?" he asked "Alastair." the man with dark hair replied. "Slugger meself down at Dredworth Munitions." They shook hands. Enoch held the man's right hand while he held the silver ornate flash in his left. "Never met a Slugger with such soft hands..." Enoch whispered and stabbed the man with his dirk in one smooth movement. Alastair gasped in pain as the cold sharp metal pierced him just below the ribcage, straight into his heart. He froze for a second allowing Enoch to grab back his flask, before the man collapsed on the dark cobbles bleeding from his mouth and mortal wound. He grabbed the pamphlet back and stabbed the spy one more time across the throat. "Dead men tell no tales..." Enoch rummaged through his pockets and took a few coins, some food stamps and a pair of quartz goggles. Come morning he would be picked clean. Even his body might be gone. The reason why very few people ate sausages on Dusk. And if his body was ever found he would simply be another victim of the spiraling crime in The Sprawl. Enoch Solomon walked away in the cold quiet night certain he had killed a spy. The Red Crew needed to start being more careful.